The car began overheating a few days ago. I don't drive it too far at any one time, but the kids missed their train to school, so I had to make the thirty-mile round trip trek to drop them off. When I got back and parked my car, a small amount of smoke started rising from the engine. I thought the problem was lack of coolant. When you can't remember the last time you added coolant to your car, it's probably time to go do that. I bought a bottle of the good stuff and added it, which seemed to do the trick.

Unfortunately, a couple of days later, the engine started making a louder rattly bubbling noise and I knew that couldn't be good. I immediately pulled over and called my mechanic.

SIDE NOTE: If you don't already have someone who you can trust to take care of your car, find one! I met my mechanic through an acquaintance who recommended him. He's Toyota certified AND makes house calls. Moreover, he does excellent work for less than he probably should charge.

So I called my mechanic and told him what was happening. He immediately knew what the issue was and gave me an estimate of what parts and labor would cost. Cheaper than a regular shop or dealer, but still more than I had in my piggy bank. Not to mention, this week is birthday week for the babies (the soon-to-be 13 and 15 year old babies) and Christmas just a week away.

Needless to say, I broke the fuck down after I got off the phone. How could I be so goddamn un-fucking-lucky??? Like a bottomless pit of bad luck. Serious despair hit my heart. And then I got angry at you-know-who for a minute, saying for the millionth time, "If he would just do the right thing and take care of his kids, I wouldn't be in this financial predicament!" Actually, the words I said to myself were not as kind.

Eventually, I got a grip and, pushing the feelings of despair to the back of my mind, started problem-solving, getting my car onto a tow truck and off to my mechanic. It took me a while to remember that this is just regular maintenance stuff and that I'm lucky enough to have this truck.

See, it was a gift from a friend.

Almost a year ago, my Land Cruiser was randomly taken away from me. One morning, I walked out to the driveway to take my kids to school, only to find an empty spot where the truck was supposed to be parked. I immediately assumed the ex took it, as he had in the past. Once I got my head together, I called the police to report it stolen. The person on the phone ran my license plate number through their system. That's when she told me that it hadn't actually been stolen.

Although it had been paid off for years, my Land Cruiser had been repossessed. Mr. Jones had taken a loan out on it and never repaid it. So I was sort of right. In a roundabout way, he had taken it.

I shared my frustration on Facebook and got a lot of OH MY GOD, I CAN'T BELIEVE IT responses. I couldn't, either. I was absolutely distraught. I didn't know how I was going to get the kids to school or church or wherever else it was we needed to go. I couldn't even eat anything that day. I just cried until my face was nice and puffy.

Then later that night, I got a message from a friend. She wanted me to call her. After crying for eight hours straight, I had no desire to speak to anyone. But she didn't give up. She messaged me the thing she wanted to discuss... that she had a car that she had been storing and wanted to give it to me.

I stared at the screen and blinked several times, reading the words over and over, trying to make sure I hadn't misunderstood what I had just read. When we talked, she told me that she had been helped in the past and knew what it was like to be in a difficult position in life. I was blown away by her generous offer. Not only did she give me the car, she had some work done on it before paying to have it smogged. She wouldn't even let me pay the registration.

It's never a good time for mechanical problems or for draining your limited resources, but I have to remember that this incredible gift from a friend has helped my family so much and if all I've had to do is pay for maintenance...

Twenty years ago... maybe twenty-two or three... I bought this Diamondback.

I remember test riding this mountain bike as if it were just this morning, the wind in my hair and a smile on my face. I rode it a few more times before I was able to come back in and actually buy it. At the time, I was waiting tables at a Bennigans in Laguna Hills, picking up shifts, setting aside all of my "extra" tips to pay for the bike. I squirreled away ones and fives in a separate cash stash box, counting it every week, making a mental note of how much I still needed before I could buy the Diamondback. Then the day came that I had all my pennies saved up. The guys at the shop thought I came back in for another spin around the parking lot. They were so happy for me when they saw that I actually came to take it home.

Riders get it.

I rode that bike everywhere. I rode up and down the coast on weekends, from my little apartment in Costa Mesa to Dana Point, sometimes stopping on the way back in Laguna to lay in the sun for a few. I wasn't training for anything. I just wanted to ride. It was pure joy feeling the ocean breeze on my face, propelling my body up yet another climb and then flying down that same hill on the way back. I mostly rode on my own, unless I went up to Big Bear with a group. This was back when ski resorts were first letting people up with their mountain bikes to ride back down. It was kind of a trip going down your favorite runs on a mountain bike. A little scarier at first, but then just as thrilling.

When my car broke down, I began taking public transportation to work. It was a nightmare. The hotel that I worked at had full showers and lockers for employees, so I thought, what the hell... I ride this way for fun... might as well start riding to work. So my Diamondback became my full time transportation. I discovered a trail that took me away from street traffic and around Back Bay in Newport. Riding home in the afternoons was always magical, with the sun glimmering on the water. It was a great way to decompress after a day of people pleasing.

Bonus: Our hotel was part of a ride share program that incentivized employees to carpool, walk, ride, or take the bus to work. Every 30 days of riding, I earned a one-hour massage!

Ironically, my years in Marin, surrounded by the most amazing riding trails, resulted in much less riding. I was busier working than I'd ever been, and when I did try to ride, I was too out-of-shape for the steep climbs. I did ride a little, but not like I had when I was living in SoCal. Eventually, I moved back, but I got out of the habit of riding. I had a car, so I didn't NEED to ride. Then I got remarried... had some more kids... blah blah blah...

We started riding cruisers on the beach. Still fun, but not like my long rides that I used to do. Last fall, I dragged the bike out and started riding it again. Mr. Jones and I were up to 15 mile rides in the morning. But I was having a really hard time. I felt like I was dragging a steel ball behind me. I tuned my bike up, cleaned the chain, pumped the tires before every ride... I was still lagging.

Turns out I was anemic.

After reading my tests to me, my doctor said, "You have almost ZERO iron in your blood. How have you been feeling?" I only had one word: "Tired." Her response was, "No kidding!" She prescribed some kick ass iron pills for me and I began taking a few other vitamins I was low on. After a few weeks of working on getting my body back to the point of not fainting, I thought it might be time to get back on the bike. So last week, I went back out.

And I rode like the wind!

It felt GREAT to be back on my Diamondback! I rode and rode and rode and did not feel tired. (Amazing what having a healthy red blood cell count will do.) Yesterday, I finally got back up to twenty miles. I did that on a mountain bike with knobby tires. Let me explain... that's like some serious drag. So those twenty were a good solid work out.

But now it's time for a new bike.

For the last year, I've been wanting to get into road riding with a group. Two reasons: Great exercise, and social. I need to find more people that I have outdoors stuff in common with. I feel like I don't know anybody that likes to ride. That's not true, of course, but I'm not actively riding with anyone other than Mr. Jones, and he has to fly 18 days a month. I found a women's cycling club, so now all I need is a road bike. I found a few that I liked, but I've been on a Diamondback for so many years, I just felt like my first road bike should be a Diamondback.

What can I say... I'm loyal.

I found a great entry level model that's great for long distance rides. And just like twenty years ago, I've been doing some extra work, saving my pennies, waiting to buy that bike. I feel like a kid saving up her allowance waiting to buy her first treasure.

The life I live now is truly sweet. There are things that I have to manage every day and there are relationships that are a practice in patience and understanding. I wouldn't mind more money in my bank account, but that's not going to derail my joy. I continue to fix broken patterns in my life, releasing the things that do not serve me or my family, and I practice daily the art of appreciating the beauty all around me. It might sound hokey or disingenuous, but I truly am thankful for all that I have and I feel peaceful about who and where I am today.

But every now and then, I get hit upside the head by feelings that I thought I had already worked through. I used to be filled with a lot of anger at certain people, circumstances, and the randomness of the universe. For years, I went to groups and therapy to erase a lot of the anger and resentment I had towards the people who had harmed me in my youth and early adult years. The human spirit is resilient, thank God, and I have learned to appreciate the lessons and honor the scars and, for the most part, I have let it all go.

Still, there's that one person that pops up every now and again, nagging at me that I still have some work to do. He's always been there... ever present. I can go for months without even remembering that he exists, but then something will come up that will trigger a memory and I'll have to deal with my feelings about him. It's not that I'm pining for this person. Trust me. Not. At. All. So why does he still have any kind of place in the dark corners of my head? I think I finally figured out why. He has never apologized for all the hurt he caused me and the scars that took so long to heal.

He never said, "I'm sorry."

If we weren't still somehow connected in life, I think I would have released this need for a simple apology a long time ago. But his past actions and my reactions echo to this day and are presently affecting a part of my life over which I have no control. I'm dealing with it well enough... accepting the journey, hoping for a miracle... but it's still a hole in my life. That hole was partially dug by me, but there was a lot of digging (and burying) done by him.

Pointing and blaming don't help to heal. But an apology might.

What's the likelihood of getting an apology from this person? I think I'd win the lottery before that would ever happened. So the letting go is the work. And that is work that only I can do. Forgiving him, yet again, is the only way to do that. I thought I had, but this particular relationship calls for regular forgiveness therapy.

Last night, I was listening to Dear Sugar with Cheryl Strayed (did you know they were back, now in podcast form?). They read a letter by a young lady who had really been worked over by a complete misogynist. The things she said he said... horrible. He nitpicked her weight, what she wore, her mannerisms... everything. It's easy to say "Break up with him." It's harder to do when you've got deserve issues.

This letter reminded me so much of this person. They commented about how lucky the young lady was to get away from him before marriage and children entered. My heart saddened for my twenty-year-younger self for not being so lucky. They went on to validated this woman's feelings and, in a way, I felt validated, too. But it was something they said in another episode that stuck with me regarding this particular forgiveness block.

"Love with a deep generosity of spirit."

They went on to say that we have to love the people that made the people we love. Read that again. Let it sink in. Love the people who we don't want to love. If it suits your psyche better, exchange the word love with bless. We need to be able to bless the people that loved our lovers first. To bless the people that bullied our kids' bullies. To bless the people that hurt the ones who hurt us.

I'm a person who struggles with codependency, so I have to be very aware of my thoughts when it comes to empathizing with an aggressor or excusing someone's hurtful behavior. The fine line is to allow myself to understand how someone's personal histories can affect their behavior without taking responsibility for what they've done to me. It's a lot harder than it sounds.

But after some meditation on this little nugget, "Love with a deep generosity of spirit," I think I might have found a good way to deal with this past relationship when the words and pictures pop into my head and send me into a shame spiral. I need to practice forgiveness as soon as those memories flash and derail my day... because I know they will.

I love the woman I see when I look in the mirror. I love her humor. I love her wit. I love that she gets confused about the fine lines on her face because she thinks she's still somewhere in her early 30's. I love that she's started to chill out about stuff. I love that she still gets heated about other stuff. I love that she still yearns for adventure. I love that she has a story lurking just beneath the surface at all times.

And if I truly love this woman in the mirror, I must bless the people who made her who she is, including the people that have not apologized for their behavior toward her. This person who magnanimously accepted my apologies will, in all likelihood, never return the sentiment, but I must bless him for his part in forming the person who stands in my shoes today. I don't have to love the surprise attack of memories that invade my peace... the sting of his words or the blow of his fist... to bless him for strengthening my resilience. I don't have to take on any of the blame or shame that I once felt to send love to the people who hurt him. I don't have to hear "I'm sorry" to let go.

I just have to love with a deep generosity of spirit... bless that person for his role in my life... honor the impact he had in forming who I am today... and get back to the sweet life that is right here in front of me.

Goopy Gwynnie bugs me, but when I saw the picture she posted (or her staff posted) of her SNAP food haul that she purchased for $29, I didn't think anything bad about it. I thought she might be sick of eggs by the end of the week, but not horrible. But she got slammed by everyone, which I found surprising. Wouldn't people want to follow along to see if it worked out? Wouldn't the people that want to improve "the system" want to use this as a case study to point to for change?

I underestimated how many other people she bugs.

This is what $29 gets you at the grocery store—what families on SNAP (i.e. food stamps) have to live on for a week. pic.twitter.com/OZMPA3nxij

Well, as this article points out, Gwyneth's stunt was doomed. SNAP is only supposed to supplement your grocery bill, not cover it, so instead of living off of $4 a day, the government assumes the person will live off of, say, $6 a day. To people who pay $10 for lunch and eat steak every night, that seems ludicrous, but $6 a day isn't impossible to eat off of... if it's just for one person. But a family of four? Not easy. I've budgeted about $30 a day to eat fresh, clean and healthy food for our family. I buy the good stuff, but I make sure to only get what we need.

I count every... single... penny.

One "extravagance" is chicken. I buy Kosher, which is about $15 for a whole chicken. Kosher chickens are raised clean and processed humanely. (I know some people will think that eating a chicken in and of itself is inhumane, but I don't. ) It's not cheap, but that ONE chicken lasts us the entire week. I make sure to portion it out for at least three meals and I try not to waste any leftovers. But I've been in the position where $15 had to go a much longer way. I definitely know the days of feeding my kids Top Ramen by candlelight because that's all we could afford and I couldn't pay my electricity bill.

It's hard to make good choices when you don't HAVE any choices.

Which is what I think the point of Gwyneth's post was. Unfortunately, it came off as Poverty Tourism. Still... it got people asking, "How can a family be expected to eat fresh and healthy on so little?" I always say "Pay now or pay later." meaning pay for the good food now or pay medical costs later, but if you can't pay either, then what? Which got me thinking... we should forget about fixing health care and fix our food system! Instead of food stamps, how about vouchers for Farmer's Markets or CSA boxes? How great would THAT be?

I know people don't always make the best decisions, and we can't nanny people into making better food choices... not even our own husbands who think pizza counts as a vegetable because tomato sauce..Maybe we should all try to live on less and make better choices. Who knows... we might solve our national obesity problem.

She still annoys me, but maybe Gwyneth isn't all that horrible for this particular stunt.

The skies were still dark when we woke up on Easter Sunday. Mr. Jones had to be up in LA early for his next tour, so he was already in his uniform when I rolled out of bed to rouse the kids. It didn't take much to wake them. I just had to say, "Come on you guys... we need to get there before the crowd."

We all knew the kind of crowd that gathers wherever Bethany Hamilton goes. We didn't want to miss out on seeing her again. I was still struggling with the request we got from our pastor. He asked regular attenders to park at the school down the street, go to the first or last service, and to sit in the overflow section in the loft. The parking and service times were not a big deal, but watching a live stream versus being in the sanctuary to see Bethany live... that was a tough one.

Mr. Jones' Uber car came to pick him up around 6:15. He kissed us goodbye as we all headed out the door; him to the train and us to church. Later at church, a friend would say, "But it's a holiday! Doesn't he get holidays?" I had to remind him that planes fly every day. Besides... we're used to it. Being married to a pilot means that we may not always get to spend the holidays together, but we got to see him for a moment before he left for the week.

We watched the sun rise as we drove up and over the hill towards the church. I still hadn't decided if we were going to ignore the request and go into the sanctuary. I expected to see tons of cars at the overflow parking lot, but we were one of the first ones to arrive. On the shuttle bus that was to take us up to the church, I asked the other adults what they were going to do. They all said they'd be watching the live stream from the loft.

Damn it. No enablers on the bus.

We got up to the church and saw that there was no line. There were only volunteers running around working. I found my friend that's in charge of the children's programs and asked how we could help before heading in to the service. While we filled snack cups with goldfish and put paint on paper plates, the crowd began to arrive. We watched them as they headed in; a trickle at first, and then a flood. We finished up helping to set up the classroom and went out to figure out where we'd be sitting. My daughter was pleading to go into the sanctuary. I hemmed and hawed and then finally said, "Okay, whatever... let's just go in." We walked up to the doors just as the Executive Pastor shut them and said,

"The sanctuary is full."

ARE YOU KIDDING ME???

So we walked up to the loft with the overflow crowed. I thought, well, maybe this is how it should go. We should let others go before us. We should be givers. We should, we should, we should... and then I just started regretting not going in. We sat at the front of the room where the live broadcast was. As expected, it wasn't the same.

I started overnoodling our situation. We had brunch reservations at 12:30, so if we were going to go to a later service to see Bethany live, we had to ignore not only one but TWO requests made of regulars. If we were going to go into the sanctuary, we'd have to go to one of the two middle services. After too much hand-wringing, I leaned over to my daughter and told my plan. She would leave half way through the live stream to get in line. I could leave during the final song, grab my son, and meet her in line. When it came time for her to leave, her anxiety took over for a second and she froze. CRAP! When this kid freezes, it's all over! I said,

"It's Bethany!"

She unfroze and made her way out to get in line. When it came my turn to leave, I had two thoughts: A) I hope she's not at the end of the two hour long line, and B) I hope our pastor doesn't see us.

When I walked out, I saw that she had somehow managed to get to the front door. There wasn't a line, but more of a mostly patient crowd gathered at the doors. Somehow, I managed to find my son without any trouble. He had just walked out of his class as I was walking down from the loft. We both met up with my daughter and found other regular attendees that were ignoring the polite requests of the staff, too.

Enablers, YAY!

The doors opened and after allowing the first service crowd to get out, my daughter and a couple of her girlfriends wiggled in and bolted straight to the front row. My son and I found a couple of seats right behind her. We sat just a few feet away from the stage where Bethany was going to be.

The sanctuary was buzzing with excitement.

We didn't get to meet her. She didn't autograph any pictures or books. We didn't get to take a selfie with her. But we did get to see her live and listen to her talk about overcoming the challenges of life. Her indomitable spirit is simply amazing. Who loses an arm to a shark attack and knows with all her being that it's for a higher purpose? I looked over at my daughter who was looking up at her in quiet admiration. It took a few years, but she got to see her role model in person.

Finally.

Bethany's family was also in attendance. Seated just a few chairs over from us was her husband. The two have been married for just under two years and are expecting a baby in the next couple of months. They talked about how they met and how they respected each other's desire to remain pure before marriage. They also talked about their appearance on the Amazing Race and how they both loved on each other more on their tougher challenges. They have each other's backs in every way.

It was a great message for my kids to hear and I think it had a greater impact because they got to see Bethany speak those words right in front of them. Before they left the stage, Pastor Jason prayed for them and the safety of their future child. I spent the rest of the service avoiding eye contact with him, which was hard to do, considering we were sitting RIGHT IN FRONT OF HIM. I was happy that my kids got to be there to see Bethany in the flesh... but I was still feeling guilty about ignoring the requests.

The things you do for your kids...

On our way out, my son said something I had been thinking: "All this time we've been chasing Bethany, and we ended up seeing her at our own church." It's a lot like life, isn't it? You can go all over the world looking for something only to find it right back at home. My daughter got to meet her role model at the very same spot she first learned her story.

It was a great lesson for all of us.

Oh! And we made it to brunch on time... just the three of us. I was bummed that Mr. Jones wasn't there and that my mom decided she still needed to do some more obsessive cleaning before her cousin came into town for vacation. But before we were even half way through our meal, my mom showed up to sit with us and say hi to the kids. Luckily, we had an extra seat. Then, out of nowhere, I see a man in a pilot's uniform that looked strikingly similar to Mr. Jones. It WAS Mr. Jones! He had flown into Carlsbad and had a few hours to spare before taking passengers on to the next city. We ended up with a crowded but cozy table filled with love and a great new tale to add to our family history.